


A Legacy to Protect

by Face_of_Poe



Series: The Conway Cabal [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Gen, Goodbyes, Heart-to-Heart, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 07:24:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16908675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: His return to New York fast-approaching, Alexander visits the Oval Office one last time.





	A Legacy to Protect

**Author's Note:**

> *Vague references to sensitive situations/events from past fics.

He didn’t expect it to be this hard.

Truth be told, he’s had rare occasion to cross paths with the president at all in the past sixteen months. Official business passes through Lafayette, and he’s not in a position that merits an invite to much by way of social function. He even missed last year’s Christmas _and_ New Year’s celebrations – spent one in South Carolina, the other in Florida, after a long Thanksgiving weekend divided between Albany, Manhattan, and Long Island.

His return to New York will do good for the roots he started planting studying at Columbia, working for the _Evening Post_ ; but in some ways, he feels like his heart is down south and he’s going the wrong way.

And then he’s walking into the Oval Office, likely for the last time, and he can’t fathom what madness made him decide to cut loose and run a mere five months before a presidential transition would have pushed him out anyway.

_Simple practicality_ , he reminds himself yet again. Can’t start law school in January. A smoother transition for himself this way.

But when Washington rises from behind the Resolute desk with the warmest of smiles and moves around to intercept his path across the office, Alexander can’t help but think – _I’d stay at a word, Mister President._

A ridiculous notion – his departure was well-prepared for, and his job was not one that impacted the president in any significant way in the day-to-day. Washington will urge him on as earnestly in his new endeavors as he did upon his agreement to sit down and interview with Gouverneur Morris four years ago.

“Alexander.” Washington takes his outstretched hand in both of his own, and then moves the left one to clasp his shoulder. Looks him up and down for a moment with a curious smile playing across his lips. Part proud; part wistful, if Alexander isn’t much mistaken. “I know you’re busy; I’m glad you found time to stop by.”

Such a line would sound absurd from anyone else. The president extends an invitation to the Oval Office, you _go_.

But Washington is different, and the history between them has never been simple. Alexander can imagine the offer was made with some uncertainty of its reception, not least after last year’s decision to put some distance – physical and otherwise – between him and the administration.

“I wouldn’t miss the chance to say goodbye, sir,” and it’s the absolute truth. He owes so much to this man.

And has spent the past sixteen months working on the effort to be more okay with that simple fact.

“Will you sit?” Washington gestures him to the sofas sitting just below the seal in the middle of the room. “Drink?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

So Washington abandons the detour towards the cart at the side of the room holding a water pitcher, a coffee carafe, and comes and sits opposite Alexander on the other sofa. The arrangement tugs at Alexander’s brain, and with vivid clarity he recalls the last time they sat here like this. New Year’s Eve almost two years ago – Alexander in the midst of a months-long downward spiral that culminated in his departure from Morris’s NEC team downstairs and moving to an office across the street to focus on his work with Colonel Mercer.

By rights, that probably should have been the end of his tenure with this administration at all.

By rights, the improbability of him ending up here in the _first_ place makes the entirety of the past four years like something of a fever dream.

“Alexander?”

He’s spacing out. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry.” Washington just watches him, curiosity flickering across his expression. “Just… reflecting.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

It occurs to decline. For eight _years_ now, their relationship has been an emotionally fraught and tangled web – fundamentally _good_ in the end, but there’s too much underlying it. Guilt and debt, and regret; compounded by loyalty and obligation with Alexander’s return to D.C.

Washington must see the hesitation in his eyes because he smiles and offers a slight nod of encouragement and tells him, “If there’s something you – It occurs that I never gave you the chance. To have this conversation. If there’s a conversation you need to have. Before you go.”

And Alexander understands, and he doesn’t. He bites his lip and studies Washington in turn and realizes… “Sir? Is there a conversation _you_ need to have before I go?”

A low chuckle greets the question. Something resigned in it. “Perhaps. I don’t… I look at you, Alexander, and I am in awe of the man you have become.” He doesn’t even try to fight back the bright flush that raises heat in his cheeks. “And yet I cannot help but feel I have made missteps at every possible interval along the way.”

“ _Sir_.” He stares down at the ground and chews on his lip. Casts about in search of a succinct way to convey this reconciliation he’s spent the last year and change working towards. And it’s maybe not even the most important soul-searching he’s done – fumbling his way towards a relationship with his brother; allowing himself to assume a spot _within_ the Laurens family and not just on the periphery; accepting the place Mister Stevens will always hold in his heart despite years of pushing him away from any semblance of parental connection…

Those may have taken priority. But Washington has been an integral part of his life on and off since he was fifteen and submitting a long-shot application to the Page Program, and the idea that this, here, might be the end of any meaningful connection between them has hit him harder than he’d have ever imagined in the past.

And it’s with that in mind – the years of awkward uncertainty, unease at his ongoing connection with the president and the role he’s taken in shaping the last eight years of Alexander’s life – he figures out the point, where all the reconciling has inevitably converged.

“Sir,” he starts again and swallows thickly. “It would have been the easiest thing in the world for you to just let me go eight years ago. Like I wanted. Like I suspect everyone else told you to do.” Washington exhales a heavy breath; props his forearms on the tops of his thighs and stares broodingly down at the floor. “I’m not saying it hasn’t been a lot of time and effort – some therapy, truth be told – in getting to the place I am today. But from where I’m standing _now_ , looking back and moving on?” Washington raises his eyes and searches his face. “I can’t begin to tell you what it means to me. That you followed me back home and offered me a lifeline that my pride almost didn’t let me take.”

Silence hovers between them. Washington looks touched by the words, but there’s still hesitation there. More he wants to say touching on topics further back, Alexander would hazard. Topics he is reluctant to raise first, for fear Alexander would prefer to let them lie.

But after his great outing as Publius last year, Alexander has no secrets; and it seems foolish not to seize this opportunity while he has it and clear the air once and for all.

And so he says softly, “I never blamed you, sir. For any of it.”

Washington’s eyes press closed, and he runs a hand over his wearied face. “I worked with Ben Arnold for too long, not to grasp what kind of a man he was.”

“This city made him. In a way it never had the chance to make _you_ , I think.”

“That,” Washington chuckles, “might be the kindest thing anyone’s said to me in days.”

Alexander smiles faintly and fights the impulse to dig his fingers into the fabric of his pants. And kind of wishes he’d accepted the offer of a drink just to give himself something with which to fidget. “I just – I don’t know, this feels entirely too self-important to say but – I don’t want to leave and leave you thinking I harbor any… resentment. All those years of not knowing how to handle you _caring_ weren’t about _you_ , Mister President and I… like to think I’ve gotten a better grasp on compartmentalizing my myriad maladaptive insecurities.”

He says it with a wry grin; Washington’s eyes, despite his answering smile, tell Alexander that he can readily see the honesty behind his self-deprecation. “Then it will not be an unwelcome overture if I say I hope you will keep in touch?”

“Of course not, sir.”

“You see, Alexander, the problem with being president, is that once you are _done_ being president, you are generally obliged to accept total unemployment for the first time in five decades, while all of the young folks who got you where you are move on to the next test and leave you to your dotage.”

“I don’t think you’re quite at _dotage_ yet, sir. Besides,” he adds, “I suspect Laf is going to keep you on your toes.”

“To be entirely honest with you, I think Martha would bar him from the house if it didn’t mean not seeing the girls.”

Which, he can relate – Adrienne’s already got bi-weekly video chat dates scheduled into their calendars, and he dreads his final farewells with Anastasie and Virginie; fears his summer strategy of warding off loneliness in the wake of John and Edward’s departures for their respective residencies by spending even more time with the Lafayette family may backfire epically when _he_ is obliged to leave in turn.

There’s a tap at the door, and then Lafayette sticks his head in. “Green room in five, sir.”

Washington sighs and nods, waves him on. Alexander offers a sympathetic smile as he rises to his feet. “The young folk aren’t quite done with you yet.” He moves slowly around the low table as Washington stands too. Gnaws on his lip some more and considers, and points out, “You know, sir – if retirement makes you _that_ antsy, there’s always the time-honored presidential tradition of writing your memoirs.”

The suggestion earns him a laugh. “Of _that_ , I am not so sure – writing has never quite been my forte.”

“Oh. Well… if you’re not above using a ghost-writer, I’m told I have a certain flair.”

Washington blinks once at him – and then throws his head back and laughs. He starts to take Alexander’s hand again, and then changes tack and pulls him into a gentle embrace instead. “ _That_ , you most certainly do.” When he pulls back, he grasps him by both shoulders and looks him over one last time and tells him:

“Call me when you finish school, Mister Hamilton.” A slow grin starts to blossom over Alexander’s face. “And we’ll see where things stand.”


End file.
